


See the Left, Pay Attention to the Right.

by musicalgirl4474



Series: Whumptober 2020 [23]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whumptober 2020, but it's never talked or thought about in those terms, but past sexy times is alluded to, manipulative Washington, no sexy times in fic, sleepy ham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalgirl4474/pseuds/musicalgirl4474
Summary: Madison goes to check on Alexander, and decides that the man is not taking good enough care of himself.Whumptober #24What Does a Whumpee Gotta Do to Get some Sleep Around Here?Exhaustion/Narcolepsy/Sleep DeprivationIt's the first one, and the last one.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/James Madison
Series: Whumptober 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956718
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	See the Left, Pay Attention to the Right.

Madison was surprised how easily the Hamiltons’ housekeeper let him into the house.

“Sir’s in his office,” the woman said, “if he’s fallen asleep there, leave him be.” Nodding, Madison walked down the hallway and entered the door she had gestured to.

Hamilton’s office was a mess, was the first thing that Madison noticed. The second thing was that Hamilton was awake, and very much looked as if he wished he were not. The man’s hair was a mess, his jacket rumpled, his eyes heavily bruised. His writing hand was trembling perceptively.

“Alexander,” he said quietly, but firmly. As he had suspected, the man’s head snapped up, posture going rigid.

“Mr. Madison,” he said stiffly, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Are you well, Alexander?” The man stiffened and returned his concentration to the papers in front of him.

“I am perfectly fine,” he said as he picked his quill up again.

Quietly, Madison made his way to stand behind Alexander, taking notice of how matted his hair was; the younger man usually took such care in his appearance. One of the ribbons he habitually wore in his hair was draped carelessly over the edge of the desk. Looking around, Madison quickly found a sturdy comb on top of a chest of drawers.

Hamilton startled when Madison first set the comb to the ends of his hair, but he hushed him. “You can keep working,” he said lowly, “I won’t read what you’re writing, just let me take care of you.”

“We have not been friends in a long time,” Hamilton said witheringly, but went back to his work.

Madison hummed quietly, barely audible even to his ears, and set to work. Despite its recent abuse, Hamilton’s hair was as soft as he remembered, the dark strands parking easily around the teeth of the comb. It was only when he reached the matted mass near the top of Alexander’s head that he had to brace the man’s head with his left hand. Hamilton grunted with pain, but kept scratching away at the paper in front of him.

Alexander often had his hair powdered, and Madison found himself wondering if Washington had the boy bear that expense, or if Hamilton really was just that vain. There was little of the white powder in his hair now though, and neglecting his appearance was one of the earliest signs of Hamilton sliding into his apathetic illnesses. “When was the last time you had a long bath?” Madison asked, interrupting his own humming. But Hamilton only muttered something unintelligible and kept writing. The comb caught, snared in snarls of hair that had been allowed to stay untended for too long. But Madison was patient, and Hamilton would sit relatively still as long as he was allowed to continue writing.

The candles in the room burned low as Madison worked the comb through now-silky hair, fighting his own exhaustion. He was waiting for Alexander’s eventual melting, the way the man would turn to moldable putty in his hands. It happens as Madison begins braiding the other man’s hair to keep it from helplessly tangling within the next few hours. Alexander tilts his head back, pressing his skull into Madison’s waiting hands, exposing his throat, so very vulnerable without the habitual cravat.

“Come along now,” Madison cajoles softly, encouraging Alexander to rise from his chair with a firm hand under his elbow. He surreptitiously pockets what Hamilton had been working on with his other hand. Alexander sways, and briefly, he considers putting him to sleep in his own room, but decides against it. He had come here with the intent to bring Hamilton back to his own residency, so that he could keep an eye on him, and perhaps keep Washington from contacting him.

Alexander makes an aborted motion to put out a candle, and Madison douses them all. “There, your precious papers are safe,” he said quietly, “now come along.” Alexander pauses, pulls back a little, when he moves to leave the house. “I need to make sure you sleep tonight, Alexander,” he said sternly. “You are not well, and you are working to create a large portion of our nation’s government. I would like to make sure that your mind, at least, stays healthy.”

Apparently unable to come up with a retort, Hamilton followed him to his carriage. He fell asleep on the relatively short trip to Madison’s residence, but he did not mind. Even in sleep, Alexander carried tension in his brow, the corners of his eyes and in the set of his jaw. Madison reached out to rub away some of the worry lines, and pursed his lips at the obvious tension in the other man’s muscles. Perhaps some kind of physical release was in order. Hamilton’s wife had been gone for a few weeks. He would speak to Thomas about it, see if the man had any ideas of a masseuse or . . . well. He had known Hamilton in an _intimate_ way in the past, knew that the man was not against carnal relations with men.

It was slightly too easy to wake Hamilton when the carriage stopped; if the man was not able to sleep deeply . . . . He encouraged Hamilton to disrobe and offered a nightshirt of his own for the man to sleep in; Hamilton hung off of his neck from behind as he turned to leave, however, and Madison sighed. “You do not actually want me in the bed with you,” he said, exhausted, but Hamilton shook his head against Madison’s neck, mumbling something unintelligible. Then he whined.

“Please?”

“Oh, alright then,” Madison said, unsure whether he was happy about this or simply resigned. Either way, he would not be leaving this room without Hamilton hanging off of him. As insubstantial as Hamilton’s weight was, it would certainly be easier to just humor him, disregarding how difficult the morning was likely to be when Hamilton was no longer quite so melted.

It was warm under the blankets, and with Alexander curled next to him, Madison almost felt as if he were in his thirties again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if you didn't want any sexy times in this series, this is a heads-up that it's gonna happen. Probably. (I mean, there already is in Whumptober, I mean the Strings series.) I'm enjoying writing this one, particularly because I kind of enjoy nice!James Madison. I don't know why, I just do.


End file.
